


cursebreaking for dummies

by aweekofsaturdays



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Curses, Fluff, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 02:29:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6497284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aweekofsaturdays/pseuds/aweekofsaturdays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Consol Curse is a real thing, and Geno has a creative solution for how to break it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cursebreaking for dummies

**Author's Note:**

> Many many thanks to [teamfreeawesome](http://archiveofourown.org/users/teamfreeawesome/pseuds/teamfreeawesome), who is an excellent beta, and constant cheerleader for stupid boys kissing each other.
> 
> As always, this story is about fictional characters and has no bearing on or relation to anything in real life.

Sid is not an idiot. He knows about his reputation as the most superstitious guy on the team; he takes the chirps and the digs in stride. Just because everyone gives him crap for it doesn’t change the fact that he knows there’s something to the idea of a curse. 

Geno’s the worst of them, chirping him along with the others and messing up his hair, then watching him speculatively after, when he thinks Sid’s gotten fed up and stopped paying attention. It’s like he’s a very large magnet attracted to Sid being pissed off, and it’s fucking annoying. What the fuck is he looking at? If he actually believes Sid, he should say something, instead of letting everyone get away with chirping him about it. 

Sid corners Geno after practice one day; they have a game against the Flyers tomorrow night and their season’s been going to shit. Everyone’s driving him crazy and fucking Geno won’t stop looking at him. Everyone’s filtered out of the locker room and Sid’s still taping up his last stick, when he sees shoes stop in front of him and follows long legs up to where Geno’s hovering, too-tall and lanky. Sid opens his mouth, ready to head off a chirp at the pass, but Geno shushes him with a gesture. 

“Team assholes,” he says gently. “Just trying to keep you real, you know?”

Sid sighs and feels his annoyance dissipate a little. 

“Too bad it’s doing the exact opposite,” he mutters. “This curse thing’s making me insane.”

Geno studies him thoughtfully for a moment. Sid twists awkwardly, tucking the stick away behind him with the rest of his gear. When he turns back, Geno says casually, still looking at him with hooded eyes, “Have heard of strategy to break curse. If you’re interested.”

Sid eyes him warily, wondering if this is just another chirp, but Geno grins a little and leans over him, rests one hand on the locker behind him. “Old Russian method.” 

Sid rolls his eyes, he can see where this is going. 

“Sex in stadium break curse.” Geno nods sagely, laughing as Sid swats at him. “No! Really! Is true, for all sports,” Geno says. He looks so fucking dumb and pleased with himself and Sid’s frustration comes back in full force. 

Sid quirks an eyebrow at Geno and he’s not fucking laughing, and Geno’s grin slides off his face as Sid reaches, grabbing Geno’s hips with his big hands and keeping him where he stands. If Geno’s gonna chirp him, then they’re gonna play some gay chicken right now and he’s gonna play like he’s trained for it. 

“That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Sid says slowly, “but if it works… I mean, it’d be for the good of the team.” He digs his thumbs into Geno’s hips and relishes the quick swear and flinch that gets him, but Geno’s not pulling away. 

“What kind of sex do you have to have?,” Sid asks thoughtfully, leaning a little closer. “Are there rules? Does someone have to get fucked, or can you just suck someone off?” 

Geno looks like someone just boarded him. He clearly hadn’t expected Sid to go along with this, and his eyes are shocked, full mouth a little open with surprise. Sid takes advantage of the slow reaction to stand, crowding into Geno’s space and backing him across the room to the far wall.

“See, I think you have no idea.” Sid’s eyes narrow, and he presses in a little closer to Geno. “I think you just came in here to get another chirp in, but you have no idea what you’re fucking with on this one, so don’t write any checks you’re not gonna cash.” 

Sid leans in close to finish the sentence, feeling their hips press together for an instant, before pulling away, when he’s done talking. He turns and grabs his stuff before heading to the door, and when he glances back Geno’s just leaning there, propped up against the wall, speechless. Sid smirks to himself and leaves; he’d bet money that this conversation isn’t over. 

 

\-----

 

Things have escalated in the few days since their moment in the locker room. Sid can’t stop thinking about the offer and whether or not it’s a joke, and Geno keeps looking at him with his damn hungry eyes and his damn stupid tongue he can’t seem to keep in his fucking mouth. 

Sid is losing his calm. 

And he needs all the calm he can get to captain this team right now. Maybe it’s best just to try Geno’s idea and get it over with. For the team. 

Just in case, Sid spends several sleepless nights googling curses and jinxes and hexes and ends up with nothing that looks like useful information on Geno’s particular method, although there are several helpful websites about smudging, and one about dancing rituals that he giggles about for about five minutes before actually considering it. If all else fails, he thinks to himself. 

He comes to the conclusion, amidst many, many misgivings, that perhaps Geno has a point. It probably wouldn’t hurt to try, anyway. Just in case. 

So.. Sid waits. Not too long, because the season is almost at the halfway point and they’re never going to pull up to get even close to a wild card spot without a serious turnaround. But he wants it to be the right moment, wants to keep the upper hand.

The moment arrives with a towel flung at his head and a second shower after a particularly gruelling practice; he’s exhausted and exhilarated and happy to be uninjured, and hopeful about the outcome of their next game. The guys are really banding together and Sid thinks to himself that if he could just step up a little more, be a little bit better for them, they might actually have a shot at turning around this godawful season. 

He takes his time in the shower, thinking about how long it’s been since the last time he got laid and wondering if Geno would be bossy. He’s half-hard by the time he’s done rinsing off, and is careful to tuck his towel in to prevent anyone getting a figurative eyeful.

He returns from the showers to find everyone gone, and Geno just.. waiting. 

“Hey, G,” Sid shifts awkwardly, then makes his way over to his locker to get dressed. “What are you still doing here?” 

“Waiting for you, Sid. You think about offer?” His voice is casual but his eyes are bright, and Sid thinks maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to just try it, for God’s sake Sidney. 

“I did,” he says, and looks Geno right in the eye. “I think we should do it.”

Geno’s eyes go wide in shock but he recovers quickly. “Superstitious captain, try anything for team,” he smirks. “We come back tonight, after rink closed. Duper make copies of keys.” He roots in his bag for a second and indeed, comes up with a ring of far too many keys, clearly none of which belong to his car or his keypad-operated front door.

“Are you kidding me?!” Sid asks incredulously. “Did you tell him about the.. thing?” 

“Nah, told him had date. Girl has never seen ice rink before, you know.”

“Wow. Classy.”

“Can’t all be Sidney Crosby.” Geno tugs on a sweatshirt, suddenly huffy. “Yes or no?” 

Sid stands up and crosses the room, looming over Geno, who looks up at him warily. “Oh, I’m in, G. See you at 10.” And with that, he turns and leaves, grabbing his duffel without looking back. 

 

\------

 

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Sid gasps, “What if someone sees?”

Geno pulls off long enough to grin and say in his sleepy voice, “Middle of the night, Sid, no one here but us.”

Sid groans and tugs at Geno’s hair, pulling his mouth back down and reveling in the sight of Geno‘s pink lips stretching wide around his cock. He doesn’t even care at this point about the damn curse, he just wants Geno to stop with the teasing already and fucking go to town. 

The bench is hard underneath his thighs and the ice stretches out in front of him, wide and empty, and Geno just keeps pulling off and teasing him like a jerk, little kitten licks along the ridge of the head and then long, deep sucks that make Sid feel like his eyes are rolling back in his head. Being out in the wide space of the rink is doing it for him, and he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. Things always make sense when there’s ice nearby.

Sid can feel himself getting closer, winding tighter at the pit of his stomach as he rocks gently into Geno’s mouth, and “Geno-- goddammit you’re such a tease, please just fucking do it.” 

And Geno looks up and says, “All had to do was ask,” and goes all the way down, rubbing his fingers back behind Sid’s balls, and Sid tries to hold on but can’t as everything spirals tighter, and he comes with a shout, shivering and curling down over Geno’s head as he falls apart apart, gasping. 

Geno pulls off with a smirk, licking his lips and pulling a face at the taste. “You lucky I like you, Sid,” he says, and he looks like he’s going to continue but Sid is so come-dumb he just grabs Geno’s face with both hands and kisses him. Geno’s knees have to be hurting on the hard floor and he’s shivering in the cold rink air, but Sid just can’t let go; so he drags Geno up by the shirt and shoves him down on the bench, straddling his lap and fumbling with the waistband of his shorts. 

Sid finally gets to skin and Geno groans like he’s dying when Sid wraps one big hockey-calloused hand around him, pulling gently at his cock and trying to keep it light to give him a taste of his own medicine. Geno growls in frustration and wraps his own hand tightly around Sid’s, leaning up for one of the filthiest kisses Sid’s ever had and shoving his other hand down the back of Sid’s shorts. 

Geno’s kisses get more desperate and more distracted, and Sid loves this, loves watching Geno fall apart underneath him even as he himself struggles to remember to breathe. He’s probably going to have fingerprint bruises on his ass for everyone to chirp him about, but it’s so worth it when Geno tenses and shudders and ducks his head against Sid’s chest, swearing in Russian and coming all over their linked hands.

They breathe together there for a minute, trembling every so often, before Sid winces and gets up from Geno’s lap. “Holy shit, you got jizz on the bench, that’s so messed up,” he notices, and Geno shrugs, loose-limbed and grinning.

“Extra luck,” he says lightly, but he mops it up with a corner of his shorts. 

Sid hovers there for a second, not sure what to do, but Geno grins up at him and stands, crowding him back towards the locker room. “Come on, Sid, clean up, then go get sandwiches. Jeez, have never had sex before?” 

Sid looks at him, mock-appalled, and opens his mouth to chirp back but.. he’s got nothing. “Do you think we broke the curse?” he asks instead.

Geno looks thoughtful for a moment, as though he’s actually considering it, and then a slow grin spreads over his face. 

“Don’t know, but will see after next game. If not, may have to try other things, maybe not enough sex to break.” He tries and fails to look so innocent, and Sid takes a swipe at him, laughing, before shoving him ahead into the locker room. He’d prefer they win, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing, to have to keep trying.


End file.
